Walk the Same Ground
by connorfemway
Summary: General Washington was well liked, but it wasn't because he could ride a horse or shout an order - no, it went much deeper than that. Fem!Connor


"What do you think of George Washington as a leader? What's one notable battle you did with him that solidified this idea?"

A reply to an ask on the ask blog **connorfemway** on tumblr.

Enjoy.

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"Connor! Connor, come quickly!"

The Assassin's eyes move up from the stone of the street to the door of the courthouse. Upon the steps a woman in her mid forties stands, clutching a handkerchief to her bosom. Two other heads turn at the native's arrival - one belonging to a girl of teenage years and the other belonging to a blue coat soldier about Connor's age.

"Lady Washington? What has happened?" the Assassin meets the woman at the top of the steps. The calm she had felt before does not leave her face, but inside of her panic stirs.

"George has gone to the battlefield!" she dabs beneath her eyes, eyes red and puffy from crying that had ceased for the moment. "He has gone to lead a battle just outside of the city! You must help him, Connor, you must...!"

The woman appears in near hysterics, her sobbing beginning again. The girl at her side touches her mother's arms, wearing a look of sympathy and worry.

"I will lead you to where he is," the bluecoat steps forward, but before he can say more the Lady grabs onto his coat.

"You will do no such thing, John!" her sobbing has been paused. Her voice has suddenly become stern and strong, her eyes lighting up with ferocity. "My husband has mounted his horse to fight because he is general. It is his duty. No son of mine will go out onto that battlefield to die!"

"Jacky, don't do this," the girl speaks up, but the man's brows furrow and his gaze turns reproachful.

"It is my duty as well, mother! It is my duty to protect this city, to defend you and Patsy."

Connor lowers her head, takes a step backwards. These sorts of family matters were awkward to be too close to when they happened, and when they didn't involve her.

"John, do not go," his mother's strong demeanor is quickly breaking, "I carry fear, so deep in my heart. What if you and George do not come back? What am I to do?"

"We will return, and we will return victorious!" the man is heavily enthused, turning his hopeful gaze upon Connor. "You forget who our allies are, mother."

"Connor," the woman chokes down her sobs as she turns to the Assassin, "Fight bravely, and return my son and husband to me. I have faith in you. You both are such fine young men... S-Stay safe..."

Connor nods her head deeply, hands clasped together in front of her belly. It is now that the Lady becomes inconsolable. Lady Washington shrugs off her daughter to make her way inside the courthouse, men stepping out of the way to allow her through. Patsy's brows pull together, hands hovering in the air for a brief moment before she turns to her brother and the Assassin.

"Fight bravely, and God's speed, Connor," she says, offering the Assassin a soft and somewhat adoring smile. Like everyone else, Patsy is under the impression that Connor is a man. She then turns to her brother and the two embrace tightly. "God's speed, Jacky. Give our stepfather my luck and love as well."

"I shall. Take care of mother."

Connor grips the reigns of her horse in only one hand. The strength of the animal she rides is something she feels deep within herself. Charging their way to the battlefield, she was assured of their victory.

Behind her rides Jacky, and his voice follows her over the thunder of the horse's hooves upon the stone streets of Boston.

"I apologize for my mother," Connor turns her eyes back to him for only a moment. The man wears a smile upon his lips, "She is normally so much better than this. Normally she is so full of positivity, so encouraging of our endeavors. She follows my stepfather to his camps when he must leave the city. She encourages our soldiers. But I fear the battle being brought so close to home has made her fret for us, our family..."

"It is understandable," Connor calls back to him, trying hard to keep her voice as low as possible.

Upon the back of a great black steed is seated Washington. Normally a calm, even soft-spoken man, his voice rises up above the cannon fire and the shots of muskets to issue commands. His posture is straight, tall, proud. His eyes turn away from the battlefield as Connor and Jacky approach. A smile passes his face.

"Son, grab a musket, head to the lines," As his son dismounts and his horse is escorted away, he reaches up and stepfather and son grip arms, "Fight bravely."

"Patsy and mother send their wishes," Jacky nods his head. Their grips tighten, "Connor and I promised we'd bring you home safe."

The General smiles.

"And safely we shall return."

Jacky departs, vigor in his step.

The Assassin brings her horse up close to Washington.

In this moment he hardly looked like the man she had spent many a time consoling. Upon this horse, shouting orders, he appears to be a true leader.

"Connor, you have arrived at the perfect time," the General's voice cracks as it transitions from a yell to regular speech. A finger is pointed out over the battlefield, "Victory is within our reach. The British try to push farther out from the forest but they have no cover beyond its branches. They will stand their ground. I plan to lead an assault, bring our forces directly upon them. We outman and outgun them."

"Is that not risky, pushing our men out of cover?" the Assassin's eyes rove over the tree line.

"Yes, it is. Very risky. But I have spent time and come up with an idea," the General nods to the several cannons that line the field. "Whilst I lead the men in the assault, I need someone to stay back and command the men who fire our cannons. The dirt here is dry, and cannon fire raises much of the dust into the breeze. With properly aimed shots, we might retain a cover beneath the dust and force them back farther into the trees."

"You will go with them?" the Assassin's mild concern pokes through. Washington turns his gaze on her, the corner of his lips pulling up into the smallest of smiles.

"These are my men. With this order, I will be putting their lives on the line. What leader would I be if I did not tread the same land as my men, put myself at the same risk?"

The Assassin falls silent. There was respect built in her mind upon these words. It was a hard choice for a General, a leader, to make, and here he was making it.

"What would you have me do?" she finally states. Something flickers in the General's eyes - a sort of recognition, or even the light of a revelation. But she cannot ask of it, for his gaze has turned to the field.

"Command our cannons. They must be timed right - too soon and we will have little cover. Too late, and our men will be sent skyward. Have them aim directly for the tree line," Washington draws a pistol from his belt, checking that it is loaded, "I have faith in your ability to lead."

"And I in yours, General," the Assassin nods to her friend. Washington's gaze is wistful.

"God's speed, my friend," Washington says as the two steer their horses away.

Two voices rise up above the screech of battle. Connor raises an arm, lifts her chin up high. The sun shines so brightly, and the dust is so thick, the Assassin takes a moment to admire the General's cunning.

It was this cunning, this dedication that made him so loved amongst his men.

"Connor, do not be a fool," Jacky gives the Assassin's back a hard pat, causing the Assassin's teeth to bump against the tankard she holds with some tentativeness to her lips, "The celebration's only just begun!"

"I grow tired, friend," she mutters, half a smile passing her lips, "Carrying you off that battlefield has exhausted me."

"Aye! I didn't see _you_ runnin' down that hill!" the man prods at Connor with his tankard, the drink obviously dulling the pain in his heavily wrapped left leg.

"But I did see _you_ tripping down it," the Assassin chortles past her mouthful of drink, putting it down quickly and hopping away before the stepson of George Washington can deliver her any sort of punches that she might deserve.

"I didn't _trip_, I got pushed, ya hear?" he calls after her as she makes her way to the door of the tavern, "If ya really gotta go, then send my old man in! He of all blokes needs a drink."

The Assassin passes her tongue over her lips to rid them of the remaining drink that sloshed up from the tankard when her teeth knocked into it. The night in Boston is bright for only tonight as citygoers celebrate the battle having been won this day.

Outside of the tavern stands Washington, who talks to several ladies who seem to be passing by. Upon Connor's arrival their attention is diverted.

"Ah, Connor. Your timing is truly impeccable today," the General who nurses two bullet wounds in his left arm offers the native a small, victorious smile, "These ladies were just asking about you."

The Assassin nearly swallows her tongue. These situations were always awkward, especially when the ladies insisted on hanging on Connor like shirts hung up to dry.

"The General speaks well of you, sir," a woman with bright blonde hair coos, while another woman giggles, "He says that you are a fine leader and soldier. Is it true?" They look the Assassin up and down and it only makes Connor feel awkward. Flirting was not her strong point and hardly something she had interest in right now, especially in front of the general.

"I... appreciate that," she finally manages, and appears much more nervous than she'd like. All three of the women giggle now. The Assassin steadies her voice before speaking again, "Might you ladies give me a moment alone with the General? I've something to discuss with him."

Washington's eyes, previously set upon the whole of Boston that seems to writhe with excitement, turn to the Assassin with curiosity. The women pout, stroke at Connor's arms as they depart, making their way over to the entrance of the tavern.

"You might be one for battle, but you are hardly a ladies' man," the General chuckles and the Assassin allows herself to chuckle with him. Afterwards she clears her throat, lets her head shake.

"John has asked me to invite you inside to celebrate," the Assassin clasps her hands in front of her, lacing her own fingers, "Your work today has not gone unnoticed by the many."

"I hardly feel the need to indulge myself. It was not my victory, Connor," the General tips his head up, adjusting the hat on his head with his right hand. His left remains in a sling, tied about his neck, "This was the Revolution's victory. The common man's victory. It has nothing to do with myself."

The Assassin lowers her chin, half a smile passing her lips.

"You called me modest once, and now it is my turn to say the same of you," the Assassin presses her genuine appeal into her voice, "You proved you are a great leader today. Your men command a newfound respect for you because of this."

The General's smile is brief. Without looking at the Assassin, his tone seems to change and he talks further.

"Connor, might I ask a question of you?" much more serious now, the Assassin's curiosity is peaked. In his peripheral vision he can see her nod.

"Do you... hide something from me?"

The two meet eyes at the same time. The Assassin wonders what she should do in this moment.

Today was a glorious day, surely. It would be wrong of her to lie to this man. In fact, she couldn't - this leader, this human being, was someone who had earned some of her respect.

The Assassin takes a few steps away from the General, slow and steady. She taps her fingers on the back of her hands, turning half towards Washington when she is a few paces away.

"I hide no more from you than necessary, General," it is all she wants to say about the matter. Washington's eyes light up with curiosity, but before he can open his mouth, the Assassin has turned backwards and walks backwards away from him, "Go, join your son, enjoy your night."

Washington eyes the Assassin as she turns away, watches as she nods dismissively to some more ladies who pass and giggle their approval of the woman who hides beneath the cloak of a man.

The General turns his eyes only when Connor has disappeared into the night, into the crowds that have begun to emerge on the streets. The smallest of smiles passes his lips, and he strokes at his wounded arm.

And after a few long moments of thought he turns on his heel and walks into the tavern, greeted by the cheers of a successful day.


End file.
